His Beckett Radar
by Penningpastiche
Summary: The "missing scene" we all wanted to see in Kill Shot-Rick comes to rescue Kate from her PTSD breakdown. SPOILERS FOR S4x09.


**Hey y'all! So this is the "missing scene" that we all wanted to see in Kill Shot—Castle comes and rescues Kate from her PTSD breakdown. I know this has been written to death already, but of course I wanted in on the fun! One-shot. Reviews are always great. SPOILERS FOR S4x09.**

It was late. Or early, rather, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Richard Castle looked up and pondered this. The clock on the microwave was blinking 2:17 am, and here he was sitting on the couch playing Angry Birds when he should've been asleep in bed. The sniper case continued to go unsolved, and the stress of it made a long day even longer. He had come home at nearly midnight and went straight to bed, but just as he was slipping into sleep his thoughts had wandered to Beckett. He had seen her start to unravel gradually throughout the day, looking worse when he left her that night that he had seen her in a long time. He knew the ramifications of this case for her, why it was slowly tearing her apart. He also knew that, at this rate, she couldn't keep herself together much longer. But he couldn't help her. She had already snapped at him once—and in front of the entire precinct. She had her walls up higher than he had ever seen them, and there was no way she was going to let him in, even to help.

That feeling of helplessness was what was keeping him awake. It was killing him knowing that there was really nothing he could do. Not that he would know even if she let him; he could only imagine what she was going through. He shifted on the couch. He had hoped that a few rounds of Angry Birds would help settle his mind, but he had been here for almost two hours and so far, sleep was still escaping him. As those two hours had gone by he could feel his discontent growing. He was just getting the feeling that something was terribly wrong, and not just based on what he had seen earlier at the precinct. No, he was getting the sinking feeling that something was wrong _now._

He shut off his game and stared at his phone's blank screen. He wondered if he should call her. _No, you idiot. It's two in the morning and she's probably asleep._ But what if she wasn't? Should he call? She would be so pissed if he woke her up. But he had to know if she was okay. Should he call? His worry eventually won over his trepidation, and he dialed her number without thinking. He chewed on his lip as he listened to it ring.

Her voicemail picked up, and he hung up without leaving a message. _Okay, she's sleeping._ But his worry continued to grow. He tried again a few minutes later, and got her voicemail. _C'mon, Kate. Answer your phone._

He stood up and started pacing, trying hard to be quiet. He was running his hand through his hair when he spotted his coat draped where he had left it hours before. He knew it was a bad idea to just drop in uninvited in the middle of the night; call it a sixth sense, call it intuition, call it what you will, he was getting a ping on his Beckett radar and he had to know if she was okay.

He ran to his room and pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, yanking on his coat. On the way out the door he tried to call her again, but got no answer. A pit started to form in his stomach. It seemed like it took forever for the elevator to reach the lobby and an eternity to flag down a cab. After giving the cabbie Beckett's address he tried her phone again. "Pick up the phone!" He growled under his breath. When they reached her building he shoved money at the cabbie and ran inside. The elevator was too slow—the stairs. _Take the stairs. _He ran up them, trying one last desperate time to reach her. When her voicemail picked up once more, he nearly threw his phone against the wall.

Outside her door he ran his hand through his hair and attempted to calm his breathing. Lightly he knocked on her door, listening for an answer. Nothing. He knocked again. "Kate." He said quietly. "Kate?" The pit in his stomach grew, and he couldn't wait any longer. Reaching for his wallet, he pulled out a credit card and slid it between the door and the frame, just above the deadbolt. This was a trick he had learned while doing research for his fourth Derrick Storm novel, using a credit card to shimmy open a deadbolt. His hands were trembling and making it harder than it should have been, but after a minute he was rewarded with the _chunk_ of the door unlocking.

He opened the door slowly, scanning. "Kate?" No reply. He could barely see a thing, and had to wait for his eyes to adjust before moving forward. The length of time it took, though, felt off—it was almost _too _dark in here. When he could finally see he understood why. Every window in her apartment had the blinds pulled tight, allowing no light to come in from outside.

Something crunched under his foot, and he bent down to examine it. His heart climbed further up his throat when he realized that it was broken glass. _Oh my God._ Some of the pieces were slippery, the dampness getting on his fingers. He brought them to his nose and a jagged moan escaped his mouth when he realized it was blood. Kate's blood.

He felt sick to his stomach. "Oh God. Kate!" He stood up, turning in circles trying to see _something._ Where was she? Finally he heard a tiny shift of movement coming from her bedroom. He turned on his phone's flashlight app and used it to light his way.

"Kate? Are you in here?" He heard it again. As he walked through her bedroom door he didn't see anything at first. Scanning, he noticed that the curtains were completely shut in here, too. He started to turn towards the bathroom, but then saw something just past the corner of her bed. He tiptoed over there, almost afraid of what he could find.

It felt like all of the air in the room had been sucked out as he saw her hunkered in a ball against her bed, her arm covered in blood and her gun clutched in her hand. "Oh, Kate…" At the sound of his voice she jerked around, pointing her gun at him. "Whoa, Kate, it's me!" Her eyes struggled to focus on him—they looked wild behind her hair. She looked feral; she looked terrified. He had seen Beckett look like a lot of things, but he had never seen her look like this. He saw her eyes clear a little as she registered his presence, and she slowly lowered her gun. She kept her tight hold on it, though, pointed and ready to shoot—just not at him. Her grip was so tight the tendons in her hands stuck out in ridges. He knelt down beside her and reached for the gun, but she jerked it away from him, the movement making fresh blood flow from the gash on her arm. "Kate, give it to me, please."

"No." Her voice sounded like it was coming from the deepest part of her, cracking even on the one word, and her hands were shaking. He reached for it again. "No!" It was then he smelled the alcohol on her breath and it suddenly became very hard to breathe.

She squeezed her eyes shut and moved away from him, her breathing growing shallow. He knew he had to get the gun away from her before she hurt herself further. He put one hand on her back, hoping to steady her, and he had to hold back another moan as he felt her trembling. The sound of her ragged breathing felt like it was tearing a hole in his chest, and he felt the beginning of tears pricking the corners of his eyes. They sat like that for a long minute, the seconds ticking by unbelievably slow, until he felt something within her unlock. She sucked in one more wet-sounding breath, and then set the gun on the floor. He reached down and swatted away, wrapping his arms around her without hesitation. Her spine was incredibly stiff, but as he cradled her against his chest he felt her start to relax. Burying her head against his neck, she sat there for a moment as he started to rock her. It wasn't until he whispered her name that she started to cry.

Her sobs wracked her entire body, and the sound was so raw it didn't seem human. Her sobs sounded like an animal. The tears he had been holding back started to spill, and he buried his face in her hair. He knew now why she had been acting so strange for the past few days, why the sniper shootings had affected her so deeply. She remembered.

He thought those two words to himself again.

She remembered. She remembered the funeral.

How much, though? Just the shooting? Or…everything? How much was she keeping from him? She'd been _lying_ to him. The thought made his chest ache, but he put it out of his mind for the moment. Right now he was more concerned about the broken woman in his arms. Her crying had quieted, but she didn't move. If anything she had moved closer.

"Kate," he whispered. "Kate, come on. Let's get this cleaned up." He reached for her wounded arm. It nearly broke his heart when she stood up and followed him submissively, without saying a word. She sat there on the edge of the sink like a child, letting him rinse out the gash, clean it, and bandage it. It wasn't until he was closing up the first-aid kit that she spoke.

"Thank you, Rick." It was barely a whisper. He paused and looked at her: her head was down, and she was tracing her bandage with a finger. He kept his eyes on her as he closed up the first-aid kit, the flinch she made when he snapped the latch shut not escaping his notice. He walked over to stand in front of her.

"You're welcome." She looked past him to the door, no expression in either her face or voice.

"How did you know to come here?"

He opened his mouth and shut it again. "I don't… I don't know. I couldn't sleep, and after today…" He paused. "I tried to call you just to check in, but you didn't pick up. My first thought was okay, she's sleeping. But somehow I couldn't live with that. I tried calling a few more times. I was just getting the feeling that something was wrong. I…" He quit rambling and looked at his feet. She didn't say anything, but their eyes met when he looked up again. The wild look was gone, replaced by deep, soft sadness. He could see the evidence of the night etched all over her face—her eyes were bloodshot around her beautiful irises, and her whole face was blotchy and gaunt. The hardness usually there was gone, and the only word he could come up with to describe it now was _haggard._ She reached forward to take his hands. Hers were cold. She broke their eye contact to look at their hands, and he saw her take a breath. And he waited.

"Rick I'm sorry."

"Kate, really, it's okay. There's nothing to be sorry for."

"No, it's not—it's not that. I…I lied to you." Wait. Was she telling him what he thought she was telling him?

"About what?" He prayed that his voice wouldn't reveal what he was thinking.

"About…" She squeezed her eyes shut and looked away, taking another deep breath before continuing. "About the… about Montgomery's funeral. About the shooting." His heart was in his throat.

"You remember." It wasn't a question, but still something he barely dared to say.

She wouldn't look at him, and her grip on his hands tightened. "I remember everything."

It felt like someone had socked him in the chest. He knew she remembered _something,_ but it was still a shock to hear her say it. He had never thought she would actually tell him. The magnitude of her statement suddenly hit him, and hit him hard. _She heard me._ For a minute all he could do was breathe. In, out. In, out.

"Hey, Kate…" He whispered, letting go of her hands to cradle her face. "Kate, look at me, please." She did, and her expression made his heart break even more. He had never seen her this vulnerable. He was about to continue when she cut him off. She did, and her face revealed the places her mind was right now.

"I just didn't know how to tell you. I didn't know how to deal with it. I knew when you figured out I was lying you would be upset, but I didn't know what to say so I just put it off and dug myself into a deeper hole. I just… God, and then when you showed up here tonight I knew I couldn't get out of it anymore. It must've been pretty clear that I was lying." She covered her face, but he saw the tears pooling in her eyes and the hard twist to her mouth. When she rested her head against his chest, he didn't even think about it. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, trying to absorb everything. In the back of his mind he had known that she remembered more that she let on, but in all the scenarios he had imagined her confession had never come like this. Of course, he had never thought that the sniper case would crop up and blindside her, either.

He wasn't sure quite what to do, but she couldn't sit in this bathroom forever. "Hey, Kate, come on." He tugged on her shoulders. "Let's go into the living room."

Just as the words left his mouth he remembered the broken glass on the floor. So did Kate, apparently, based on the way she tensed in his arms. But she stood, and they walked into the other room. She sat down on the couch, both of them ignoring the broken bottle not five feet away; he settled down next to her. He didn't put his arms around her, although he wanted to more than anything. He didn't want to encroach if she wanted her space.

"Where's my gun?" She asked after a moment.

"Kate, I don't think-"

"I'm fine, Rick. I'll be okay. I just want to know where it is." Her voice sounded really tired, and maybe a little exasperated. He hoped that she wasn't retreating behind her walls again.

He sighed. "Your bedroom."

"Will you get it, please?"

He didn't want to, but the look on her face was not one to argue with. "Yeah." It took him a minute to find the gun from where he had slid it earlier. Even though she had said she was fine and would be able to tell anyway, he made sure the safety was on before walking back to her.

She was playing with her phone, but she put it away when he came in the room. "Just set it there." She motioned with her head to the coffee table. "You called me five times."

"I… yeah, I did." He plopped down beside her, resting his arm on the back of the couch and putting his head in his hand.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For calling. For wanting to check on me. For coming here even though it's almost 3 am and you had no idea what you were going to find. I was completely losing it—it just seemed to come out of nowhere. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come. So thank you."

"You're welcome, Kate." He said with a smile. She met him with a shy one in return, and surprised him by settling against his chest. At first he just didn't move, but then shifted and put his arms around her again. They sat like that for a while; he knew he should go home but couldn't make himself move.

Just then, even though he thought she had drifted off, she muttered, "Stay," like she had read his mind.

"What?"

"Rick, stay. Not like that. Just stay. I… I feel safe with you here. What I'm dealing with right now… I don't want to be by myself again. You can have the couch if you want, or… not." _Wait, what?_ "Just don't leave." She shifted against him, moving closer.

"Kate, are you sure? I mean…"

She didn't reply at first, just sighed against his neck. It made his heart clench hard, and suddenly all he wanted was to take her hurt away, all of it, take it and make it disappear. He didn't even wait for her to say something.

"All right."

**Well there you go. I hope you enjoyed it! And also a big thank you to anyone who read or reviewed my first fic, **_**A Richard Brown Christmas.**_** It means a lot! **


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